The Shadows Within
by JustTwisted
Summary: NEW: CHAPTER 10 UP The dark side of Vimes that emerges in those certain kinds of cases....With Carrot recovering from an attack, its up to Vimes and Angua to solve a mystery...featuring angst, shippiness, and the woman who Vimes was 'brung low' by.
1. The Hunt

Disclaimer: C'mon, I'm just a fan, I respect TP. The Discworld and the watch are his…but I guess I betta keep hold of the DeLancey's.  Not that anyone'd want them. You'd be more twisted than me if you did…okay, stopping now.

Rating – PG-13 for some violence…cuz we like it **dark**.

Setting: Let's say a coupla months after Fifth Elephant – cuz, after all, I've only read up to 'The Truth'. (I do love TP so, but alas, my funds do not stretch to buying hardbacks ;-)

Note: A quick little something, not my best work, but an idea I've had for a while.

The hilarity of the Discworld has to be the main reason for loving them it so much, but I confess to having a serious weakness for Vimes when he gets all dark and broody over the less funny crimes of Ankh Morpork. . 

 Erm, you may notice a bit of an Angua/Vimes slant too. If you don't like, you can ignore it. 

And, if people want me to continue, I plan to bring up the woman who 'brung low' Vimes too …so go on, R/R

  Vimes had been sitting at his desk for the past hour, part of  which he'd been doing nothing else but listen to the continual hum of conversation from beyond his door. Of course, there was always the occasional horrified shriek when  some eight foot, coked-up troll, covered in the blood of all six men he'd been in a brawl with, was brought in, and was faced with Nobby. But then the poor lad had that effect on people.

   For a while, Vimes had mused over how times had changed, how full and busy the watch house was now, how different it was back in the days, when, well…when things had been a little lonelier. Before Carrot, whose size was only matched by that unnerving charisma. Before they'd started recruiting all manner of creatures. Before Sybil…

  He was going to be a father. Soon. Gods knew how he felt about that, because quite frankly he couldn't even bring himself to think about it. Vimes didn't like surprises, and fatherhood would be one hell of a surprise. 

 No, he liked to leave his paternal anxieties at home. Where Sybil was, and all her preparations, all her lady friends hovering around with colour schemes for the nursery, and publications with disturbing names like "Newe Mother" and "Babey & You." Recently, Vimes had been quite content to leave Sybil to her world, while he stayed here, with his. 

  The fact that he hadn't had anything to do other than ignore a lot of paperwork all day wasn't important. He was still here, still in his element. He was Vimes here. Just Vimes. 

There was a loud rap on the door, before Angua burst in, all wild-eyes, blonde locks and heaving -ahem. Vimes stopped himself there. 

 "Carrot just sent word by Clacks -  DeLancey was spotted on the edge of the Shades."

 Vimes was up in a second, grabbing his sword as he followed her out.

 "Is he in pursuit-" but the feral look in her eyes told him he needn't have asked. Carrot was going to get himself in trouble. She was undoubtedly doing everything she could to stay in control and not tear over there straightaway without him.

 Vimes admired that, and quickly nodded his awareness of urgency.

 "Let's go". He said quietly. As they set off out the door quickly, Vimes motioned to a couple of anonymous watchmen to follow.

~ ~ ~

So, DeLancey was back. It had been well over a month since they'd got the call to the DeLancey estate. 'New Money' they might be, but a mansion was still a mansion, and a Lord was still a lord, no matter who'd been bribed for the title. It was therefore a little unusual to call the Watch, but as they had, the Commander himself had had to make an appearance. But he refused to wear his dress uniform. Tights and police work didn't go.

   Vimes had known something was seriously wrong though, from the minute they were let inside. This wasn't a simple case of somebody pinching the silverware. Lady DeLancey  had seen them. A proud old lady certainly, but unusually for the rich, Vimes could see some decency, and some intelligence in her grey eyes. She and her husband had been in Sto Lat - perhaps that was why the son thought he could get away with it. But she had returned home early with matters to attend to. She had found the house empty, the servants sent home. Most of them…

 The girl had been brought forth, supported by another servant. One look in her eyes, at the bruises, and the torn dress, and Vimes had the entire night shift out searching for Marc DeLancey. Everybody had stayed out of his way that night. Angua had been with him for most of it. She shared his anger, but Vimes half-suspected Carrot had asked her to stay with him, just in case DeLancey had been brought in. In case Vimes did something stupid.

 He'd got away. But now, stupidly, he'd come back. Vimes felt more than the rush of the chase that night as Angua caught up the trail. It was the cold, grim desire for **justice** that got him. No-one got away with that in his city. Just because he was some rich socialite, thinking he owned everything and every-one. No, not in his city. She was barely sixteen for godsdamns sake. 

  He felt his blood run cold as they ran though the shadowed streets.

 He ignored the feeling of Angua's eyes on him, the werewolf easily picking up when Vimes' moods turned dangerous.

 It concerned her sometimes, just how much she could see of herself in him. 

~ ~ ~

 They'd found Carrot about ten minutes later, though Angua had picked up the scent of blood far earlier. It was bad, no point in pretending it wasn't, but he was alive. The other  fairly young watchmen had grown pale as Angua had collapsed down beside Carrot's pale form, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood from the wound in his side, sobbing unashamedly for the man she loved.

 Vimes had leant down, placing a hand on her shaking shoulders in an uncharacteristically sensitive gesture.

 "Let these two take him back – Igor will fix him up, but he needs to go **now**."

 She had looked up at him with vulnerable eyes. Something stirred in him slightly at that.. it took him back all too clearly to when she'd been weeping in the hall of the embassy in Uberwald, after the fight with her brother. He'd been fairly inadequate as a consoler then, not used to dealing with upset, and admittedly naked, young ladies. This time he was in the mood for a chase. She could see the grim determination in his face. She recognised the hunt in his eyes.

  She nodded, and allowed the two nervous watchmen to take over, and try and drag Carrot back to the Watch house.

  Then the two of them had ran on into the night, the werewolf following the scent of Carrot's blood on top of DeLancey's…

~ ~ ~

Another ten minutes and they had him cornered in a warehouse. Unfortunately, they'd also got separated. Angua cursed to herself for letting Vimes out of her sight. She could smell danger coming, Vimes couldn't. 

 Then a part of her remembered Vimes' mood. He would be alert enough to spot DeLancey coming at him all right – but she feared whether DeLancey would be able to spot Vimes…

  Of course, she shared the Commander's hatred of this man, for what he had done to that girl, to the others who had slowly started coming forward, each with their own all-too-familiar stories. Not to mention what he had done to Carrot.

  But she couldn't kill him, no matter how much she wanted to. She knew that would be a betrayal of Carrot's beloved principles.

 And she couldn't let Vimes do it, because she knew it would be a betrayal of his. Samuel Vimes was not a man you gave an opportunity for self-loathing to. The guilt would eat away at him ever after. She knew his type. There was a line you couldn't cross.

   Her sensitive hearing picked up the rush of movement even before she heard the thud of something hard on flesh, and Vimes' yell. She ran up the nearby stairs two at a time, with a sinking dread of yet another person she cared about being hurt by this man.

But coming out onto a wide open level,  she found her fears were needless. Whatever blow DeLancey had dealt Vimes, it had only made him madder. The two were wrestling on the floor, on the far side of the room at the foot of another staircase.  This certainly wasn't fisticuffs. They were dealing each other blows in a messy mix of fists and kicks, the fighting that only came through intense hatred on both sides.

  As she ran across the space between them, she watched with horror as Vimes suddenly gained the upper hand, and sat astride the young noble, hitting his face in a terrible non-stop torrent of blows. Angua couldn't make much sense of  his cries, only  a chilling repetition of "A child…only a child…" as he just kept on hitting…

  He was so worked up he didn't even notice her approaching, and struggled against her instinctively as she grabbed his arms from behind, trying to pull him off the now still and bloodied form beneath him. 

   Full of adrenalin he whirled around and pinned her against the wall, his fist already drawn back to strike.

 "Sam!" 

 Her cry rang out loud and clear, drawing his frenzied eyes back into focus. He saw her wide eyes staring back at him, then thebloodied fist he had been about to swing around, and finally the arm he had pressed harshly across her neck.

 "Oh Gods." He whispered quietly, and backed off swiftly, clumsily. His stomach lurched at what he had been about to do. It didn't help then, when he saw the bloody mess on the floor that was formally Marc DeLAncey. 

  "Oh Gods." he said again.

 Angua rubbed her tender throat, watching him stand there weakly. The wolf inside her reared at the small around her. _There was so much blood, _ She thought, before realising that most of it wasn't on the body, but all over Vimes' hands, his shirt, his face…

   She watched the horror on his face, watched as he looked down in a daze at his blood-red hands.

 She knew then, that the line had been crossed.

_Any more for any more?_

_R/R_


	2. Friend in need

Disclaimer: C'mon, I'm just a fan, I respect TP. The Discworld and the watch are his…but I guess I betta keep hold of the DeLancey's.  Not that anyone'd want them. You'd be more twisted than me if you did…okay, stopping now.

Rating – PG-13 for lingo.

Setting: Let's say a coupla months after Fifth Elephant

Note: just to explain my call for reviews before I continue – which apparently pisses people off ;-) (hi Supine) – I've got two on-going fics elsewhere that have a total of at least 71 people asking for more every day. I'm under a bit of pressure ;-)So I wanted to write this, but I wasn't gonna waste time on something no-one was reading J That's just silly. 

  So, anyhoo, I'm gonna continue, cuz dark Vimes is just so **damn  irresistible** EML

There was no dramatic pause, with a bloodied Vimes standing silhouetted in the doorway against a convenient flash of lightning. There was no shocked, unanimous gasp from everyone in the watch house.

  Instead there was just the very, very slow ceasing of conversation as he and Angua made their way through the room, heading towards Vimes' office. And of course there was always that one person who wasn't very observant, and so goes on talking longer than everyone else. Usually they're relating a crude joke, and only stop when they get to the punch line and realise they're the only one laughing.

  Fred Colon was that man. 

  His back was towards the rest of the Watch house, and so he spent several seconds in a very loud voice saying things along the lines of,

 "Eh? Do you get it Nobby? It was the wife, geddit? Nobby? Nobby?"

 "Shuddup Fred" Corpral Nobbs hissed back. 

Only then did Colon take in the silence, and turned around – straight into Vimes' path. He took in the blood. A lot of blood. Everywhere. And then, he had to go and look in the man's eyes.

  Nobby later swore he heard Fred whimper.

 Then Sergeant Angua was there, placing a reassuring hand on Colon's shoulder, while she led Vimes on with the other.

 "I'll explain in a minute."

Fred nodded dumbly.

  Fifty pairs of eyes watched her follow Vimes slowly up to his office.

No-one spoke for a moment after the door shut with a 'click'. It was Nobby who spoke first, voicing all their thoughts.

  "Was that Vimes under all that bl-?"

Fred nodded slowly.

 "-Yes lad. "

A beat.

 "Shit."

"Yes lad."

~ ~ ~

Angua stood with her back to the door and watched as Vimes moved slowly around his desk, pulling out his chair and sitting down very slowly. She watched his eyes flicker to the bottom drawer of his desk.

  "I don't think that's a very good idea sir. "

 Vimes met her eyes. 

_Ah_ she thought. _Nobody should be that sober. _

Vimes obviously agreed, for he spoke up for the first time since…well since she'd dragged him away from the bod-, the susp-, the…scene.

 " Sergeant. If ever there was a time that justified my having a drink, now would be that time."

 "Yes sir. " she said, moving towards the desk. She eased herself wearily into the chair opposite.

 "But it wouldn't just be this one time would it?"

 Vimes' eyes flickered aside for an instant. Of course he knew they knew, and of course he'd made a few comments about it in front of them…and Angua herself had seen him when he'd been drunk, right back in that whole gonne incident. But he'd never really **talked** about it. It wasn't like he was the type of man who went to meetings. He was commander of the Watch. He was the one in charge… 

  "No. It wouldn't." he eventually muttered. 

He looked up at Angua with  a terribly unfunny grin.

 "But what would that matter? After tonight? This-"  he gestured around weakly at his office, the paperwork, the watchmen outside. "- is all going to go. I can't keep this after tonight."

  He could already see the big gaping abyss of his future ahead of him.  At best, Vetinari might make an example of him. Lock him away. Then of course, the patrician was an evil SOB. He'd probably let him go free. Say it was an understandable accident. Then he'd be given early retirement and a cheap, gold,  **watch.**

He snapped the pencil he didn't even realise he'd been holding.

 "I killed a man tonight." He said. "I've never killed anyone before. Not like that."

 Angua was watching him closely.

 "He was an evil twisted bastard sir."

 "He was still a person!"

 "He resisted arrest!"

 "Not after I'd knocked him unconscious!"

 There was a pause then, and thankfully he lowered his voice to a bare whisper. Angua wasn't even sure if he was talking to her anymore.

 "I just couldn't stop…."

 It was always a shock to see someone you admire so utterly deflated, weak, and vulnerable. But there wasn't that awkward embarrassment here. Angua just thanked the gods it wasn't Carrot or Colon sitting where she was. They'd be looking around hopelessly by now. They'd probably send for his wife. They wouldn't understand. But she did.

   She had reached out and placed her hand over his without thinking. He looked up in surprise, but this wasn't some overly-sentimental moment on her part. Angua didn't do 'weak', well, not unless things got really bad. Her voice was firm.

  "Yes. You went too far. But it's over now. He can't hurt anyone anymore and I know for certain that no-one worthwhile will mourn for him. He's not worth it. "

  They both knew what 'it' was. 'It' was what he was doing now. It was giving up, judging oneself, losing control. 'It' would be taking that first drink.

   Vimes gave no response other than a vague nod.

  The woman opposite him sighed and gave his hand a quick squeeze before standing up.

 "Stay here. I'll talk to Colon. I'll be back when I've seen Carrot. "

 As she turned and left quickly, Vimes came out of his own pit of despair in time to feel guilt of a different nature.

He hadn't even thought about Carrot. And he'd kept Angua minding him when she should have been rushing to the bedside of her…well, whatever Carrot was to her. 

  He could be an inconsiderate bastard sometimes.

After tonight, that thought struck him as a desperately hilarious understatement.

TBC

R/R

(_short chapter - sorry)_


	3. Partners in crime

Disclaimer: C'mon, I'm just a fan, I respect TP. The Discworld and the watch are his…but I guess I betta keep hold of the DeLancey's.  Not that anyone'd want them. You'd be more twisted than me if you did…okay, stopping now.

Rating – PG-13 

Setting: Let's say a coupla months after Fifth Elephant

Note:  In response to VimesLady's question on the previous chapter– after a brief panic, I flicked back through Men At Arms –and yes, Vimes had generally given up drinking by then, but his plans for retirement got to him, he got drunk, and that was the 'scene' where Angua went through his things and mistook his 'widows and orphans' fund, for a list of 'female acquaintances'. And then he drunk the type of coffee that sent you to the **beyond** sober. Lol. So yes, Angua's seen him drunk.

 Angua returned only half an hour later. She'd given strict orders that Vimes was not to be disturbed in that time, and no-one was going to argue with a werewolf who'd just spent an evening struggling against the stench of blood everywhere. 

  When she came back into the office she found Vimes in exactly the same position he'd been in when she'd left. He hadn't moved an inch…the hand on the desk that she'd held was still there, his eyes were still looking blankly forward, and, more importantly, no hidden stash of alcohol had appeared.

   He looked up a few seconds after she'd entered, and with a flicker of …something…in his eyes he asked after Carrot.

 "He'll live." She said simply.  Carrot had been the same old Carrot. He'd been pale, and tired, but Igor had patched him up well. There'd still been that 'selfless hero' attitude, one of embarrassment rather than anything else, at his condition.  And of course, the first thing he'd asked was whether they'd caught the suspect. Angua told herself she didn't mind his not asking after her first. After all, she didn't like to play the weak little girlfriend, and he knew that. But still…he really did think that business wasn't the same as personal didn't he? 

  But the man she saw in front of her now, knew the truth. The job was his life. That's when passion gets the best of you, when you're not distanced. That's when you can't turn off the cries of the innocents, and the evil laughter of monsters like DeLancey when your shift ended. She'd always known he took things to heart more than anyone else – but now she could see just how much damage they did there. This was a haunted man.

   All she said was,

 "he'll need bed rest for three or four days. "

Vimes' nodded, unable to resist wondering just what sort of relationship those two had One minute Carrot was making his way across the ice and snow of Uberwald to reach her, and the next, Vimes couldn't help suspecting whether Angua was just 'settling' for him. There never seemed to be much, well, happiness in her voice when she talked about him. No spark. He'd known a spark like that once..and he didn't hear it in her voice, or see it in her looks.

 He allowed himself to think these things tonight. Anything was better than re-living the fight, those endless blows…

  "I got you a clean shirt." Angua said, interrupting his thoughts, as she handed it over.

 "Oh." Said Vimes, remembering what he must look like. And a glance at Angua, reminded him of what he must smell like to her.

 "Oh. " he said again. 

 She waved aside his apologetic look.

 "Its alright sir. I'm used to it. But, er still…"

 He nodded in understanding, and after the briefest moment of awkwardness, she casually turned her back, and allowed him to change. 

 "Colon's arranging for someone to pick up the body." Vimes suddenly heard, muffled through the material being pulled over his head.

 Cold dread went through him again, but Angua didn't need a reply.

 "And Carrot wants to see you at some point sir. To thank you. "

Vimes froze mid-button-fastening.

 "Excuse me? "

  Angua turned back round, and locked eyes with him determinedly. 

 " He wants to thank you sir, for saving my life. Everyone thinks its very noble how you fended off my attacker."

 Vimes stared back at her.

 "Your attacker? "

 "Yes sir. Having got me pinned, he would surely have killed me if you hadn't killed him first. "

 Vimes placed his hands on the desk, and leant forward.

 "Sergeant?" There was an ominous tone to his voice.

  Angua mirrored his action, leaning forward and speaking quietly, and harshly.

 "You made a mistake. Don't throw your life away because of it. No-one's going to question the story, it was just you and me, and a dead man everyone wanted dead anyway. There's no room for discussion here."

 "I'm your commanding officer." Vimes warned ominously.

 "Not for much longer if you don't go along with this. " She came back quickly. 

 There was a moment of  fierce glares and a terrible tension, before Angua's eyes softened.

 "Please. I know how unfair the world is. Good men shouldn't have to suffer needlessly. You have to trust me. Please."

Vimes saw the concern in her eyes and realised just how scared she was. Scared for him.

 He eventually lowered his gaze.

 "What about Carrot? He has that uncanny way of sensing a cover-up. Didn't he know you were lying?"

 Angua leaned back, with a sad smile on her face. He could swear she almost rolled her eyes.

 "Carrot'll believe what I say. As much as he likes to seek out the truth, even he couldn't bring himself to suspect that we're being deceitful."

 Again Vimes felt that awkward pang of witnessing some ill-feeling in a private relationship. He could never tell why Angua used so honest a tone when speaking to him about he boyfriend. 

 "Besides. " Angua continued quietly. " I wasn't exactly lying."

He paused, and met her eye. He knew what she'd meant. Of course, there **had** been an attacker who'd got her pinned against a wall. He probably **would** have killed her. That attacker had been him.

 "It wasn't me who held the attacker back though. " Vimes offered quietly.

 And Angua knew what he'd meant. He had been too hyped up, seeing red – he probably would have struck her if she hadn't called out his name. There had been no self-control, he hadn't restrained himself. It was she who'd snapped him out of it.

 There was a strangely intimate moment of understanding, with sorrow, guilt, and forgiveness passing between them. Then Angua shifted her feet, and looked away.

 " You should probably get home sir."

 "Oh, yes…Home." 

Home, to his wife, happy and content with her new-found family life. His wife, ignorant of what he'd been through, the monster they'd been chasing, the things that he, Sam, had done. He'd hold his child in these hands someday. The hands that were still now stained with blood. How could he even look her in the eyes? 

 "I, er.." 

 Angua picked up his fear.

 "Perhaps I should walk you home sir. Just to make sure you're alright after the…apprehension of the suspect."

  Vimes couldn't contain his humble gratitude.

 "Yes, I...that would be helpful, Sergeant. "

 Yes, it would be helpful. It would stop him from wandering the streets, avoiding going home, ending up in a bar, then a gutter. He needed someone to tell him he could still go home tonight. That he hadn't really changed. To tell him that all that rage inside him earlier had truly dissipated – that he was not that sort of man. 

 He needed someone who understood his world. 


	4. End of a long night

Disclaimer: C'mon, I'm just a fan, I respect TP. The Discworld and the watch are his…but I guess I betta keep hold of the DeLancey's.  Not that anyone'd want them. You'd be more twisted than me if you did…okay, stopping now.

Rating – PG-13 

Setting: Let's say a coupla months after Fifth Elephant

Note on correction made to this chap: LOL. I wrote this late at night which should explain the slip-ups re: elephants and Mrs. Palm J Actually the latter' quite funny cuz I actually remember thinking "I better get the right one, because isn't the other the Head of the Guild of , ahem, Seamstresses? I should really start trying coffee. 

They hadn't said a word on the walk home. Instead they'd fallen in to the regular copper's stride, Vimes lost in his own mindless trance as his feet automatically took him home. But as familiar as the route was, and as often as he had crossed the Ankh by this bridge, tonight the shadows cast by the four stone hippos seemed deeper and more menacing. After all his years on the beat, Sam Vimes was getting a severe case of the wiggins.

  The problem was that the demons he feared lurked in the mist weren't just vague possibilities of muggers, maniacs or simply Foul Ole Ron.  Tonight the darkness had a face. It was a laughing, superior face taunting Vimes at having evaded him for all those weeks. It was the face Vimes had beaten into a bloody pulp.

 So tonight, he was glad of the sound of another pair of footsteps at his side. 

When he got to the front gate of what he still thought of as Sybil's home, the reality of it all suddenly came crashing back in. He'd have to go in and see his wife now. He wouldn't be able to bring himself to tell her all that happened. She would see his scraped knuckles, and the bruises on his face, and all she would do, would suggest he go have a bath run for him. She would never ask, because she still feared the answers.

 Or rather, nowadays, she feared his not answering. Things had been good for a while; their little holiday had done them good. But as soon as they'd been back, he had become a copper first, and a husband second. As for 'future father', she thought it was mostly still denial there.

 Vimes knew how she was feeling. He saw it in her eyes every time he left for work, or as more often than not, got called out to work in the middle of the night by a pounding on the door, and the sound of Detritus' slow apologies. And he saw it in her face every time he came home late at night and wordlessly got into bed.

 His job was his spark, the one passion in his life.

 After tonight, he didn't know if he had that any more. He didn't know what his actions tonight meant.

All he was certain of was that everything would look better, at least for a little while, looked at through the bottom of a bottle.

He sighed. He couldn't do that of course. He knew where that led. So here he was, a grown man, commander of the watch, with a whole list of titles to add to that – not to mention the tights-  and he was hovering outside his home like a kid who snuck out earlier, got up to no good, and had now realised he was locked out. 

 The young blonde standing next to him, appearing just a tad on edge, didn't help with that analogy.

 He turned to her, to thank her, to apologise, to say …something.

But Angua just gave a small smile and a nod, and turned and walked away, leaving him alone.

Of course she would.  She understood him. She was one of his men. Well, obviously she wasn't. **Obviously**, I mean, it was **Angua**, you couldn't get any more 'woman' than Ang-

 Vimes stopped his thinking right there and start back-pedalling as fast as he possibly could. Why did he keep doing that lately? He'd never really had a problem before – in the beginning she'd pretty much been 'the werewolf', and then she was just 'Carrot's'. And of course, he was married. He was her CO. And why on disc was he still thinking about this?

He pushed the front gates open, preparing to go in and just sleep.

He resisted the urge to look back down the street and see if she was all right. Of course she was. It was the potential attackers he ought to be worried about.

He sighed again. He was doing too much of that lately.

~ ~ ~

Angua had just got out of bed when she heard the banging far below. She walked to her window, blinking back the morning light as she peered down at the street below to see who was knocking.

  _Oh gods._

She was racing down the stairs a second later, hurrying to stop him from waking the whole place up. Mrs Cake, as liberal as she was in regards to the doggy-doors, was quite particular about gentlemen callers. Carrot was bad enough (it was the way he blushed incessantly)but her drunk boss turning up at her lodgings at six am wasn't going to go down well. She'd glare. She might even 'tut'.

 If you didn't think that was anything serious, you hadn't met Mrs Cake. 

 She reached the door and yanked it open just as Vimes had raised his fist to knock again.

  _Well, he looks like he made at least a couple of hours of sleep_. Angua thought, relieved, seeing his change of clothes. He obviously hadn't been out at a bar all night.

 It dawned on slowly that his fist was still raised, and he was standing there wide-eyed, and more than a little awkward looking.

_Oh gods_. She thought again. _Tell me I put some clothes on before I came down._

Looking down she thankfully saw that she had. Unfortunately, one of Carrot's oversized shirts didn't exactly make for standard uniform. Or in fact, anything suitable to be standing at an open door on the street in. Now, Angua could handle revealing some flesh in front of fellow wolves and dogs. Nakedness was natural to them. But from the way Vimes had gone pale, broken into a cold sweat, and was doing everything in his power to keep his eyes on everything except the Sergeant before him, she couldn't help but share in his embarrassment.

 He'd come to share his epiphany, to share his questions, his **gut instinct** about DeLancey. It had struck him the minute he'd left the house, and he had to share it with someone straight away. He would reach her lodgings before he would get to the stationhouse. He just hadn't taken into account the time.

 So now he was left here, with just one thought in his head.

_Legs. A whole lot of legs._

TBC

R/R


	5. Questions & no flirting at all nope nada

Disclaimer: C'mon, I'm just a fan, I respect TP. The Discworld and the watch are his…but I guess I betta keep hold of the DeLancey's.  Not that anyone'd want them. You'd be more twisted than me if you did…okay, stopping now.

Rating – PG-13 for mixture of violence/lingo.

Setting: Let's say a coupla months after Fifth Elephant

 "I should, er-" Angua gestured back up the stairs behind her in the universal language of anyone who's been caught at an inconvenient time and needs to go wash, get dressed, apply make-up and generally make themselves presentable to the world, and feels all this 'will only take a minute'. The scary thing is they're usually right.

Vimes nodded dumbly, his paleness turning a curious shade of red, as he likewise motioned that he'd just wait out here if that was alright .

  _Damn, why do I always find myself in embarrassing situations with her? _ He thought, recalling the 'holding of wounded, naked Angua' Incident in Uberwald. What worried him more than the fact that he **kept** on recalling the Incident, was why he'd felt the need to assign it a capital letter.

 Meanwhile the hurriedly-getting-dressed Angua should have been feeling annoyed that after all her efforts to be judged only on her work performance, she had just succeeded in degrading herself to a mere sex object in her commanding officer's eyes. She should have been feeling annoyed. Cheery would undoubtedly be in full defensive mode now, though Cheery as a sex object was as disturbing a thought as they come.  But Angua couldn't help a little smile…Even now Carrot was still a bit bashful about things of this nature, and wouldn't dream of thinking anything untoward – at least while on duty, anyway. But she knew exactly what had gone through Sam Vimes' mind when she'd opened that door. 

 And she wondered if she should really be so happy about it.

~ ~ ~

A minute later*, she was downstairs again, in uniform, and was met by a more collected Vimes. In fact, she could even see that glint in his eye he got when he was on a case, everything had just come nicely into place, and somebody's life was about to become very miserable.

 "Why was he there?" he demanded excitedly.

 "Sir?" she asked cautiously, wondering if he was going to go back to his state of confused disbelief from the night before.

  "DeLancey…why'd he come back after all that time? And hanging around the edge of the **shades** for gods' sake?"

  They were already making their way through the morning streets at a steady pace, falling into step with each other as easily as they had the night before.

 Angua shrugged.

 "Who knows? Maybe he was hiding, maybe he was looking for some other poor girl."

 She watched him carefully, and true enough she saw a flash of uncertainty on his face; but he looked up and met her eyes with a frightening understanding. He knew what she was doing – she was going to take every opportunity to remind him of what a poor excuse of humanity DeLancey had been. 

 She stared right back, guiltless, as if to say _what else did you expect?_

 He gave a grim smile.

 "This isn't a guilt thing Sergeant. Something's not right here. The DeLancey's are a damn wealthy family, and selfish bastards like him…" He was thinking aloud to himself now, more than anything, his feet carrying him automatically through the crowds. "He wasn't going to degrade himself in the Shades. He'd be living it up in Sto Lat or somewhere, priding himself on how he got away with it…He'd be mocking me…"

  Vimes noticed Angua's frown of concern out the corner of his eye.

 "Us. Mocking us." He muttered, before returning to his thoughts,

 " Why'd he attack Carrot? **How'd **he manage to attack Carrot? Then why trap himself in the warehouse…No, there's something else, something we're missing…"

  Angua sighed, and stopped him with a firm grip of his arm. He turned to her, surprised at the familiarity and forcefulness of such an action. Standing in the street with all the early risers around them, Angua leaned in and spoke in low tones.

 " Don't you think this is a case you should just move on from?"

 " If there's something else going on-"

"And how do you know that?" she demanded, the walls of rank having crumbled, unnoticed by either of them. "Some 'hunch'? Some 'gut instinct'? How can you be sure you're not seeing something here just because you want to? You **want** there to be some conspiracy, some larger crime, to try and justify it to yourself…If it was more than the girls, then somehow you'd feel less guilty about all that rage wouldn't you?"

 Vimes stared back at her, unnerved by this sudden insight into him she seemed to have. But then he shook his head, and held her gaze determinedly.

 "If anything else is going on, if there was someone else involved with Carrot's attack, I need to know."

 She started to look away in frustration but he pulled her round to face him.

 "We'll talk to Carrot again, look around the area he picked up DeLancey's trail…if we don't find something, I'll let it go."

 _Why do I feel the need to justify myself to her?, _ a voice in his head piped up, _I **am** Commander of the Watch after all._

He told the voice to shut up.

 She seemed to consider for a second, before giving in and nodding. It was then that they realised they were standing in the middle of a busy street, standing close, each with a grip on the other's arm.

 Vimes was about to give the standard embarrassed glance and nervous cough, followed by hasty removal of any kind of physical contact, but then something very, very unsettling happened.

 Their eyes met and there was The Look.  Now that most certainly did deserve the capitals. Everyone knows The Look. It's the one where something in the eyes shift, and there's a faint, knowing smile from at least one of the parties, as they realise that the other just had the same unprofessional thought the other did. More often than not its followed either by a slow reducing of distances between lips, or – in accordance with the laws of forbidden flirting – somebody you know walking in talking loudly, and going about their business not noticing the leaping apart, and sudden preoccupation with the floor/ceiling/magazine.

 Angua gave him The Look. And just as she realised she was doing it, he found himself returning it. 

 They didn't need an interruption to disrupt that moment. They both saw images of their other halves flash before their eyes, and there was a sudden clumsy 'unhandling' of arms, breaking of gazes, and the appearance of about two metres between them. And absolutely no trace of curious seductive smiles whatsoever. 

 They hurriedly continued their journey to the Watch house in deafening silence.

TBC

 *see?


	6. The plot thickens

Disclaimer: C'mon, I'm just a fan, I respect TP. The Discworld and the watch are his…but I guess I betta keep hold of the DeLancey's.  Not that anyone'd want them. You'd be more twisted than me if you did…okay, stopping now.

Rating – PG-13 for mixture of violence/lingo.

Setting: Let's say a coupla months after Fifth Elephant

Note: Sorry for the delay. Can't be avoided. See my bio.

 Vimes didn't know what was harder to ignore on entering the Watch house; everyone's nervous looks, with Fred's in particular searching his face for any sign of hangover or more homicidal tendencies, or the nagging urge to try and stand as far away from Angua as possible lest anyone suspect….well, nothing. Just a general suspicion.

  Either way he couldn't stop a very unmanly squeak of gratitude when Igor pulled him aside.

 "Igor! How can I help?"

  The face before him stared back as blankly as anything that scarred and mottled could.

 "Captain Carrot thur?"

 "Oh." Vimes' high came plummeting down, and found himself glancing automatically at Angua. After a quick dashing of her own eyes, she managed to maintain the type of cool that should have come naturally to Commander of the watch.

 "How is he?" he found himself asking.

 "oh he's, I mean _he'th _a tough one marthter….and he seemth to be theeing things a little clearer now…he wath athking after you thir."

 Vimes shared another look with Angua and they prepared to hurry down, but she was stopped by Igor's hand on her shoulder*.

 He leaned in with what he probably thought was a conspiratorial wink.

 "I think he'd apprethiate a visit from hith girl too Theargeant – jutht remember he'th meant to be taking things easy, mith." 

Angua eyes darted towards Vimes guiltily, and he looked away just as quickly. This was not going to be a pleasant meeting, but he had to know about the attack.. 

 Carrot looks weak, but Vimes still saw his face light up at the sight of them…at the sight of Angua. The amount of guilt Vimes had felt over the last twelve hours should have been enough to last anyone else a lifetime. Well, maybe not _any_ one else. Vetinari was a cold emotionless bastard, but **then** there was Throat, who couldn't possibly have a conscience considering what he put, or rather what he _didn't_ put into those sausages…. 

 Still, he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Preferably without Carrot thanking him for stopping Angua getting beat into a bloody pulp. He couldn't help but pale at the thought of how close he'd come to striking her…how he'd been filled with so much anger he could hardly control himself. He'd turned into the very thing he hated…

 Angua was looking at him with concern. Too much concern. She quickly tried to blank her face, and turned back to Carrot with a faint smile. She didn't bother asking how he was. There was only so many times you can hear "can't complain" before you started complaining yourself.

 "Mr.Vimes" Carrot began, "I want to thank-"

 "-Captain, we need you to tell us exactly what you saw." Carrot looked up at Vimes as if admiring his humility. God, could he feel any lower…

 "Yes sir. I remember seeing DeLancey sir. Unfortunately.'

Poor lad's out of it…wonder what Igor's got him on. Wonder if I could have some of it… 

"Unfortunately?"

 " Yes sir. Because I remember seeing him in front of me, just before I spun around to face the attacker creeping up behind me sir."

 "Are you telling me DeLancey didn't stab you?" _ Oh gods_.

 "Yes sir. I remember it distinctly because he…was smirking at me sir."

 Angua felt a growl coming. She hated that man. She hated him for messing up so many lives. She hated him for the line he'd made Vimes cross…

 Vimes, who was just standing there staring off blankly with dull eyes. Oh no…

 It was back to the same old reasoning in his head. He'd killed DeLancey. But Angua had said it was alright because he was evil...it hadn't just been the girls, he'd left Carrot for dead…and he'd hoped so badly that he was part of something else, something greater and more calculating. But now, it seemed he hadn't even attacked Carrot…

 "Mr Vimes are you alright?" The injured man asked weakly.

_ Gods, even Carrot, in this state, has noticed,_ Angua thought panicking..

 "Uh, Carrot – are you sure you didn't get a good look at the other attacker?" She didn't want to say 'actual' attacker. She didn't want to drive the stake home here.

  Carrot shook his head embarrassed.

 "I'm sorry, I…it was all so quick.."

"Well then, we better leave you to rest."

 "Thank you" carrot said.

 _Didn't even ask me stay._

 She coughed politely.

 "We'd better get back to the case then sir?"

Vimes seemed to shake himself out of his despairing daze.

 "Oh right, er, Sergeant.."

She practically dragged him up to his office by the elbow. The parallels with the night before were not lost on her.

 As soon as the door was closed she turned to see him leaning against his desk with that damn pensive look on his darkened face…

"It wasn't DeLancey..." he muttered eventually. 

Angua approached him and resisted the urge to give him a good slap.

 "To be quite frank sir, you need to get a grip…this is exactly why I didn't want you to keep going on this case..."

Vimes seemed to come back.

 "I was right though wasn't I…there's something else?"

 She sighed. Maybe. There was an accomplice now…but an accomplice in what? Dammit. Now he had her thinking..

" I need this Angua." Vimes found himself saying. "I need something to distract me."

 She looked up at him, staring down at the floor with a mixture of vulnerability and brooding. She gave him a light amused smile.

 "You couldn't have found some other conspiracy?" There was twinkle of wickedness in her eye. "It could have clues in it."

He couldn't resist grinning back. And Sam Vimes was not a natural-born grinner by any means.

 He let the smile go from his face, but couldn't quite get rid of all the friendliness form his voice as he said;

 "Better get Cheery down to where we found Carrot. See if she can pick up anything. I'm guessing that er, you missed…"

 She sighed.

 "I know, I missed the other attacker...there was too much blood and-" _–the hunt_, she had been going to say. _All I could see was the blood, and your rage...your need for the hunt…._

 -there was just too much blood." She finished off, somewhat lamely.

 Vimes gave her a curious look, but let her leave.

*always an unnerving experience…you half expect it to stay there even when he's pulled his arm away agin.

TBC

R/R __


	7. A Clue Oh, gods

_Note: I apologise. **Profusely**. See me grovelling here. I know I left this un-updated for , basically, months and that that makes me a terrible terrible liar. And I know how many of you like this fic and have taken the time to review it etc.  So I'm a bad bad person. As some sort of explanation (not an excuse, oh no, no excuses here) I didn't have the months of free time I thought I'd have…I had to get a job (groan) which took up a helluva lotta time, I've had **major** computer probs, and when I did get some time to write fic I confess that I concentrated on two other stories which both had more readers waiting for updates (majority rules – it sucks, but it's the truth). But now – I'm back…and having to get this moving before any more spoilers for 'Nightwatch' come out and make any of my back-story null and void ! I'm very very sorry. I really do love this fic so._

_Carrying on :_

   "Found anything?"

 Cheery jumped with fright at the sound of Angua's voice by her side. She _really_ didn't like working on the edge of the Shades, despite the armed watchmen keeping her company.

   Collecting herself though, she explained the scene before them.

 " Well, for starters, I found some more blood, apart from, er…"

  "Carrots". Angua finished for her.  The cobbles of the street were stained with a small pool of darkness where they'd found him the other night. The alley was narrow here, with all sorts of odds and ends lining the walls…anyone could have hid here and jumped out at him. Dammit, why'd he been so stupid as to come down here without back-up? 

  Because he was carrot of course. 99% of the time he really was unstoppable, mostly through that knack he had of calming a situation down with  a little diplomacy, but also through his sheer size and strength. But it was that nagging 1% that he always seemed to forget about. You'd have thought he'd have learnt after Wolfgang… 

 But there was no time for that now. Sighing, Angua followed Cheery as she moved closer to the wall, in the shadow of an old mouldy sofa that had been leant up vertically against the stone. Knowing Ankh-Morpork it couldn't have been there very long, or else someone would have had away with it.

  "D'you see this here?" Cheery said, pointing towards the smudged red handprint.

 But there was no need for Angua to see it…she could smell it.

 "That's not Carrot's blood is it?"

  It was best to phrase it like that. Sure enough there was a flicker of uncertainty on Cheery's face but the end result was the same; she couldn't tell if Angua already knew and was just asking for confirmation, or whether it was just a guess. Yes, it was best all round if people didn't know just how acute her senses were in human form. Then it could work both ways; close colleagues might opt to underestimate her abilities, and so be more comfortable around her…while anyone else she met on the streets could be fooled into thinking the Watch had more on them than they actually had. The latter had been Vimes' idea.  _People are mostly still ignorant about werewolves here_ he'd said, not without looking a little uncomfortable,_ and we can use that to bluff 'em out. _She was happy about that. Forget all Vetinari's PC crap ; she was different from other officers, so by god she better be able to put the fear surrounding her to good use.  Vimes understood that.

  She pulled herself out of her reverie realising Cheery was already answering her.

 " –  back to my lab of course, but looking at its distance from the other sample, as well as the size of the print itself, I can't see how this could be Captain Carrot's. Of course, this could be the suspect's...maybe he lay in waiting here, or perhaps he got knocked back in the struggle."

 _What struggle? _ Angua thought bitterly. Carrot hadn't even see it coming. And he never laid a finger on DeLancey . He never had a chance.

  "Wait. " she said suddenly. "Stand perfectly still. Just…don't disturb anything. I'll be right back."

 "What- oh."

 Cheery waited patiently, and very self-consciously still as Angua made her way back past the other watchmen, and ducked out of sight into a deep doorway. There was the clatter of armour being dropped to the floor, followed by what might have been the faintest sound of air going 'whoomph' as if something had just vanished and been replaced by an altogether differently-sized something. 

 A few moments later and Angua came trotting out on four legs.

 This was better. Things were clearer now, different smells like trails of different colours, interweaving in different combinations, overlaying each other as time had passed by.  There'd been a lot of disturbance here since last night, but unfortunately the smell of blood was still sharp, piercing and metallic. It made her mouth water.

  She tried  - gods how she tried- to concentrate instead on the scent she'd picked up by the handprint. Cheery stood motionless , trying her best of course to follow orders, but Angua was still put off by her presence. She could see in the colours around her everywhere the dwarf had stood this morning, she could smell her breakfast (toasted rat) on her breath, and as for her clothes…well, even modern dwarfs struggled to grasp the concept of washing daily. But there, closer into the space behind the sofa she picked it up again…describing the smell visually, it would be a midnight blue cloud, exotic and incredibly foreign to a dingy niche of an alleyway. 

  It was strong, _very_ strong – a perfume, and a rare one at that. Rare was good. Rare was unique, and unique could be traced.  Whoever had worn – or rather, doused themselves in this, had waited here for a short while – maybe a couple of minutes at most…and there was an air of…expectation. The outline was blurred and disturbed – they'd risen quickly – but she could still just about make out a form. Someone crouched down here, ready to spring…and one hand leaning against the wall in support. Just blood on the palm though…no blood drops anywhere else from a wound.  

  Sa-, Vimes, had been right. There was more to this than met the eye.*

 Cheery could swear the wolf beside her had an almost pensive look on its face, as it turned away and walked back to where Angua's pile of clothes were waiting.

 As soon as the wolf, with all its teeth, was out of sight, Cheery  - and the other two watchmen, she noticed – both let out an unintentional sigh of relief. Anyone who'd seen that wolf in action would…and even though Angua was Cheery's friend, this dwarf had grown up in Uberwald. Hse knew what werewolves could do…and despite Angua's good intentions it was hard to get over the knowledge that she was capable of everything Cheery'd heard in the horror stories of her youth. And _then some_, because lets face it, anyone who'd taken the little diplomatic trip Hubwards a few months ago had seen first hand that Angua came form one vicious and none-too-stable gene-pool. 

 Sure she felt guilty getting on edge every time Angua turned…but no-one at the Watch could say any differently. Except Captain Carrot of course, but that was different.

 Oh, and Mr. Vimes. Which was strange…because he still didn't hide his lack of trust for the undead as a rule. But Angua…well, he seemed alright with her.  Cheery shrugged to herself as she went back to packing up her equipment. Nobody really understood old Vimesy anyway….not even the man's wife, from what she'd seen.  So he was a little hard to figure out…he was a damn fine copper either way. Just look at what he did for Angua last night.

 She'd seen the body, and she knew for a certainty…the Sergeant had been damn lucky that Vimes had been on her side.

*or the nose. TBC 

Review people! Well don't..review _people_, I mean, I don't care what you'd give your ex's out of 10 or anything, I mean…review the story.  Obviously. Yeah.  Go do that.


	8. Developments

It was midday by the time Angua rapped on the door to Vimes' office.

 There was a clearly audible sigh, followed by;

 "Come in."

As she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her with her free hand, the look on Vimes' face showed he hadn't been expecting her.

 "Angua." And boy did that come out sounding more relieved than he'd like. 

Angua herself had to suppress a smile at the sound of someone actually appreciating her presence; she'd just popped in to see Carrot, who, while thanking her for taking the time to visit him, reminded her that she was, after all, on duty. 

  "Bad morning?" she asked, not without concern as she approached his desk. Vimes was sitting head in his hands somewhere among the piles of files all around him. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked up, hands at the back of his neck now.

 "Vetinari." He said simply.

 "Ah."

 "Yes."

She took a seat without having been asked, wanting to be on the same eye-level as him. 

 "Want to talk about it?"

  "No."

 She raised an eyebrow disbelievingly, and despite his better instincts he found himself giving in to a grim smile.

 "He sent for me this morning." He started, pointedly ignoring the little voice n the back of his mind asking him why he was getting into a chummy conversation with Angua after that...thing, this morning. _So much for that 100% professionalism you promised yourself_ _ a minute ago _it smirked. He glared inwardly at it, watching it scamper off whimpering.

   "He congratulated me. He said I'd 'made an example to anyone thinking of harming an Officer of the City'. He said things like 'beyond the call of duty', and 'selfless acts of heroism'.  He said he might look into having a medal made for me. Something about 'valour'."

 Vimes glowered, remembering the knowing expression on the Patrician's smug face.

"Bastard."

Angua couldn't resist a smile now. A whining Vimes could be so adorable sometimes. 

The smile disappeared from her face in a flash _Godsdammit. Stop thinking like that..*right now*._

 Mentally moving on, she tried to offer some sort of condolence.

 "I know you hate the attention. Especially for something you didn't do-". A quick glance at Vimes and she knew he hadn't taken that the wrong way. In fact, he seemed to be looking at her unnervingly, like she'd read his mind…

"- but this is good. You can just move on from last night."

 She didn't say 'forget about it'. She knew that could never be a possibility.

 Vimes watched her for another second, before seeming to come to a decision, and sighing, leaned back in his chair.

 "You're right. I should just try and leave this case behind me."

  Angua's hesitant look down didn't escape his notice.

 "Unless..." he continued, leaning forward again eagerly , "You've got something on the second attacker."

 She looked back up into his eyes, saw in them the copper's hunger for the chase, the breakthrough…

 Resignedly, she passed him the iconograph she'd brought in with her.

 As he took it their fingers touched just for a second..

 Both of them pointedly avoided the others eyes and ignored the little '!' they'd just felt. Now was _so_ not the time,

 "Igor told me that from the shape of Carrot's wound he knows we're looking for a roughly 3" blade, but with-"

 "- one straight edge, and one serrated" Vimes finished grimly, looking at the weapon in the picture.

 Angua nodded.

 "They're rare…I had a picture made of this example in the armoury, but even that had been locked up for a good while."

 "I know." Vimes muttered, dropping the iconograph disdainfully onto the desk. "Carrot confiscated it from some dumb barbarian a few years back. He thought it was a damn good showpiece of course, but those things aren't fair-play in the slightest. One edge for slice-and-dice, and the other just for tearing you up as messily as possible..."

 Angua spoke before he had a chance to muse one just how messily he'd torn up DeLancey's face night.

 "I was thinking we should speak to a few of the more 'selective' arms dealers in the city. Something like this was brought in from outside Ankh-Morpork. Special order perhaps?"

 Vimes paused a second.

  " Its going to be a long shot. Those places pride themselves on Client Confidentiality* and all that…Is this the only lead we have on this son-of-a-bitch?"

 Angua couldn't help but be swept up in his enthusiasm now as she answered. 

 "See, that's just it sir, I think _he_'s a-"

 She stopped hastily as there was a loud knocking and Colon popped his head round the door.

 "Excuse me Mister Vimes but-"

 He paused a second, taking in Angua's presence, and that from the way the two of them sat back quickly in their seats, he seemed to have been interrupting something private. He guessed that they must have been discussing Carrot. Poor lad. That Igor still wouldn't let him have any visitors. And Nobby had gone and bought some grapes special. Damn shame they'd had to eat them all on their own…

 "What is it Fred?" Vimes asked impatiently.

 "Sorry sir, its just..." The sergeant shifted uncomfortably. "Er, a carriage has been sent sir."

 Two sets of eyes stared back at him blankly.

 " From old Mr DeLancey…that is, erm, its been sent for the, er, body, sir?"

He saw Vimes face pale instantly. 

 Angua's eyes darted towards him, wondering if she should handle this…but found Vimes' own came round searching for hers. Their gaze held a second, and he seemed to focus a little more.

 "Thankyou Fred." He called out calmly, not taking his eyes from hers. "Deal with it will you."

 Fred paused a second, before nodding dutifully.

 "Yessir. Right away sir."

 Puffed up full of pride he made his way out.

 As soon as he'd left Vimes allowed himself to lose the calm expression and sag down in his seat burying his face in his hands.

 Any other time he would have waited until Angua was out of the room too, but now…well.

  "Gods." He muttered.

 "You did good." Angua's voice called supportively from across the desk.

  Vimes sat up and flung his arms wide sarcastically.

 "Oh, well that's just fine then. I might have just managed to conceal from my entire command that I'm a complete wreck."

 "Sir-"

 "No, no, don't try and deny it, you've seen enough of me the past twenty-four hours to see the truth."

 There was a pause while he came down from that little rant. Eventually he looked down, his shoulders slumped.

 "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have _had_ to see it. You shouldn't have to listen to this now."

Angua looked to the side a second, as if deciding what she could and could not say at this point. Eventually she leaned in perching her folded arms on the edge of the desk, and spoke quietly.

" First, you're not a complete wreck. You've managed to keep yourself together better than anyone else would have in the same situation, especially just now. The others might think that you're understandably on edge, but they've mostly forgotten about last night – you've put them all at ease being here today."

 She paused, and softened her voice a little more as she continued, his dark eyes watching her the whole time.

 "And second, I wanted to be here for you. Because I care and…and well, I know what its like to get carried away by your rage sometimes. And its… its hell to go through it alone."

  Vimes realised then just how much she understood it all. How much he understood her. That wasn't good…not for him and Sybil, and not for Angua and carrot. So, he should stop this right now. Stop this informality that had crept in. Re-draw the boundaries. Be professional. 

  "You were going to say something else before Fred came in?" he asked, still holding her gaze.

 Angua couldn't help but look taken aback for a second, but she regained her composure admirably.

 "Yes sir. There's a lead I was about to follow up, that suggests-" 

 "Hang on-" Vimes interrupted. A second later, with Angua looking back at him expectantly,  his brain actually registered the fact that he'd spoken. He paused a second, and looked away as he continued casually,

 "Its just we don't any more interruptions…So tell me on the way."

  What?  It wasn't unusual for him to want to get in the thick of things. It wasn't like it meant anything. It was work. Just…out of the office. With Angua. Alone with Angua. He could handle that.

  So he kept his expression unreadable as Angua, after a beat watching him painfully closely, replied.

 " With pleasure, sir."

  _TBC_

 * The Guild of Merchants had come up with this term a short while ago, and used it with great gusto in every _Guide to Ankh-Morkpork _ and promotion of  some of the less reputable trades of the City. They felt it better suited the image of class and style they were attempting than the traditional clause of "If the old Bill comes knocking, we'll tell 'em bugger all."**

** which had in fact, only recently been amended with "…unless that is, the aforementioned old Bill is in company with, and/or led by the troll Detritus, in which case my friend you are well and truly screwed, because no way on _disc_ are we  going to say no to that guy, have you _seen_ the size of that long-bow?!". In this area the Guild liked to make the exact nature of the agreement as clear as possible.

 __

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V


	9. A copper's nose

"So what's this lead?" Vimes asked as they stepped out onto the street, the noise level not much of of an improvement on inside the station house. You just had to love this city. Really. It was the only way to stay relatively sane here.

 "Perfume." Angua replied.

"Excuse me?"

"I went back to the spot Carrot was stabbed." Vimes couldn't help but notice the hard set of her jaw as she spoke. When they'd found him last night it had been one hell of a scary moment. They'd seen Carrot's still form  from a distance, and he still remembered how fast she'd ran to him, and flung herself down at his side, unashamedly frantic. Those unbearably long moments before they'd seen he was still breathing…everything had seemed unreal. They'd felt that together.

 "The one who'd attacked him had been lying in wait for a long time. I sensed…determination." She didn't have to explain to him how she'd known. 

"And what – they were wearing perfume?" asked Vimes incredulously.

 "Practically doused in it. Expensive stuff too…but I can't be sure of the brand. That's why we're heading to Madame Clarke's – only place it could have come from. In this city at least."

 Vimes was once again faced with trying to override his view of Sergeant Angua (copper, werewolf, one of his Men) with Angua the modern woman of aristocratic descent who could recognise expensive perfumes. She certainly _was_ intriguing…

  "Hang on…" Vimes said, drawing to a halt in the middle of the street. "Are you honestly suggesting the attacker who brought down _Carrot_ was some rich woman from Ankh who happened to be lying in wait in an alley in the shades? " 

 Angua sighed. "I admit, there was a _lot_ of perfume…It was all I could pick up from them…which does make me wonder if it wasn't a deliberate attempt to blind me, so to speak."

 Vimes felt his heart race. "So there could be some son-of-a-bitch out there not only attacking policemen, but knowing enough about the watch to take these kind of steps…to know specifically about you?"

Angua's eyes flickered up to meet his. "We're still missing something aren't we?"

Vimes nodded slowly. An attacker lying in wait for a long time for DeLancey….who knew where he was headed? If they wanted to kill him, why attack Carrot and then simply dissapear? But  if they were an accomplice, why weren't they with DeLancey when they caught up with him at the warehouse?  And why on Disc had he come back to Ankh-Morpork in the first place…and headed for the Shades?

 "Someone out there thinks they can get the better of us." He said quietly.

Angua watched him carefully. The last man who'd thought he could do that had ended up with his face beaten in. 

 "Come on" she said. "Let's go upset some rich people."

 At least that bought a gleam into his eye.

The elite nature of Madame Clark's boutique was made evident by the fact that no one noticed them enter :  no one noticed them in their old boots and dented uniforms; no one noticed the unshaven Vimes look around with disgust at the women buying tiny bottles of toilet-water for amounts that would feed and clothe the kids in his old street for a year; no one noticed the unkempt young woman with the more-than-obvious assets burst into a fit of coughing and trying not to gag at the strength of the scents around her. And certainly no one noticed the muttered profanity from Vimes as he grabbed her by the arm and escorted her back out of the door.

No one noticed them because people like watchmen were to the clientele of Madame Clark's, the very kind of people who escaped one's notice. They carried on, sitting in their delicate little chairs, surrounded by glass and marble and soft lighting,  focusing all their attention on the multitude of delicate little scents that were sprayed before them by delicate little assistants.  

Things like the Watch didn't register in these women's eyes.

Of course, thought Vimes oh so briefly, that had been one of the things that had made Sybil so different…

He ignored that thought  and instead took his hand off Angua's arm and stood a respectable distance away as she wiped water away from her eyes.

 "Damn, I thought I'd be able to handle it." She said severely annoyed at that less than graceful performance.

 Vimes shook his head, denying any culpability on her part.

 "To be fair, I didn't expect them to be spraying the stuff in your face the second you enter the door."

 Angua was still annoyed with her own over-sensitive sinuses though. It was Changing this morning that had done it – she was still hyper-sensitive to everything around her.

 "Stay out here in the fresh air-" Vimes started, before realising what City he was in. "Well, just stay out here. I'll go ask about any strange customers recently."

 She shook her head. "No, that won't work with these people. We need to identify which brand it is, and track down a buyer ourselves. I need to smell some samples."

She took a deep breath and went in first, heading straight past the little booths to the back counter.

 The middle-aged woman behind the back counter had to use all her strength just to give them a vacant stare in their direction. When Vimes tried to explain what they were after, she was practically frowning in concentration just to hold her gaze. 

 "Perhaps…you'd like to…come through to the back.." she managed to say eventually. 

It was better through there. Watchmen in the boutique was like that proverbial elephant in the sitting-room. But these were the back-rooms…it was at least faintly plausible that they could be here talking to the staff. The frown of concentration evaporated somewhat.

 "Is she..er, quite alright?" The woman asked, casting a wary eye over the young lady exhaling suddenly.

"She's fine. And the quicker you can help us the quicker we'll be going." Vimes said cheerfully.

That brightened her up significantly. 

"Oh course – you said you were trying to trace a certain scent?"

 "It's exotic, foreign, expensive -" Angua began. The assistant gave her a polite blank look. "- and I just described everything in this store didn't I?"

 "Perhaps dear you could be a little more specific yes?"

 Angua sighed, and closed her eyes, trying to evoke the scent once more from her memory. _Go back, see as a wolf…remember Cheery, remember seeing past her, the alley, the myriad of trails, old, new, twisted…then all at once smelling it , seeing it clear as day, a concentrated spot…_

 "Musky fragrance …yet with a hint of bitterness…sort of…purple and…dark…has a faint unique floral something…but sweet, not soft…like…night back home in fall…"

As she spoke quietly, recalling every nuance, every detail, the assistant wasn't the only one watching her in enraptured wonder.

 Opening her eyes, she caught Vimes' gaze first. She quickly looked away embarrassed.

"Something like that anyway." She said.

 To her surprise the assistant looked intrigued.

 "Well, my, that could indeed be…yes, or even…ah,  if you could wait there one moment" she said  as she headed off into the depths of the storage area.

There was silence between the two of them for a second. Angua had always felt self-conscious about her abilities in front of Vimes – she never wanted the day to come when he looked at her like a freak. She'd worked hard to be seen as just another watchman in his eyes. _Really helped with that little appearance at the front door this morning, girl _ she thought to herself.

Vimes had indeed been looking at her as if he'd just remembered how special she was. Not gaping in open-mouthed wonder, but with that slightly unnerved, yet intrigued look that she had seen in his eyes at the pinnacle of a case, but never when simply looking at her. And when Carrot spent all his hours being so understanding as to be blasé about this side of her, it was felt _real_ good to be looked at like that again.

  Their eyes met again and Vimes was now looking at her more steadily.

"I'm glad you're on this case." He said.

Angua saw something in his eyes and gave a small smile.

"A wolf's nose. Every Watch should have one" she shrugged.

That wasn't exactly what he'd meant. And they both knew that.

 The tottering of heels announced the return of the assistant. She was carrying before her a small tray of exquisitely cut glass bottles of perfume.

"Would you like to take a seat dear?" she chirruped to Angua, nodding towards a small table and chairs against the wall.

Obliging, Angua sat, raising her eyebrows at Vimes, who was leaning against the doorframe, as if to make very clear how uncomfortable she was with the pampering treatment. She thought she saw him smirk.

"Now" said the assistant as she picked up the first bottle. "This would be the most popular fragrance that fits your, ah, description." She went to spray the perfume before Angua's nose, but found her wrist suddenly grabbed as if from nowhere.

"Why don't you let me do it?" Angua said with a fixed smile.

 She took the bottle, and opted instead to dab a very small amount on her wrist, before tentatively smelling it.

 "It's...nearly, but not quite." She said to Vimes.

He nodded, and she proceeded to try the second, and then the third.

Angua almost growled in frustration.

"They're so _close_, but…"

Vimes came over and patted her shoulder supportively.

"We had to try. Maybe the weapon's lead will be more promising-"

He caught sight of the assistant's eyes flashing down to her waistcoat pocket.

"-_unless_  this lady has any more samples for you to try?"

The assistant paused before pulling something small out of her pocket, so small she could conceal it in her hand.

"Understand, that it is _highly_ unlikely you would have come across this in the city at all, let alone in the, ah, manner in which you described."

"And why is that?" asked Vimes.

"Because-" said the woman, drawing herself up with pride. "This isone of the most select fragrances one can find anywhere. Madame Clarke's is the only place you could find this item in all of Ankh-Morpork. Furthermore the only clients we have had in the last decade have been orders from abroad. I highly doubt that _Lit de Nuit_ is the scent you are after."

 As Angua held out her hand impatiently, she failed to see a slight tightening in Vimes' jaw. She failed to see his eyes turn hesitantly to the tiny blue-glass bottle that the assistant passed to Angua.

She _did _ however hear his sharp intake of breath, despite his trying to hide it.

 The second she opened the bottle she knew, but she dabbed some on her wrist anyway.

"This is it. This is the one" she said, turning to Vimes.

"I was afraid you'd say that." He said quietly.

Failing to meet her eyes he asked for a list of all the recent purchasing orders. Somehow the tone in his voice didn't leave room for argument.

As the assistant nervously made off to rustle through her desk, Angua lowered her voice.

"Is there a problem sir?"

Vimes' eyes, fixed on the tiny perfume bottle left on the sideboard were hard and unblinking. She reached out to touch his arm with concern.

"Sir-?" 

He flinched away sharply under her touch, and met her surprised eyes.

"Sorry." He muttered after a moment.  

Before she could open her mouth to speak again, he'd moved away to accept the sheets of paper the assistant was holding out to them.

 "As you can see, our client list is_ very_ select - "

But Vimes didn't even look at what was in his hands. He simply folded the list of 15 names and addresses and shoved it roughly inside his breastplate.

"Tell no one we were here." He said roughly to the woman as he passed her by.

Frowning , Angua followed him out.

_TBC_.

_TBC._


	10. Stop

As soon as she got out of the door, Angua called out to Vimes' back as he set off down the street.

"Sir, what-"

"Go follow the knife lead Sergeant" was the gruff reply shot back at her, without even a glance.

Standing in the street she looked after him as he stalked his way through the crowds, a mixture of angered insult and deep concern furrowing her brow.

It wasn't a copper's normal stride he eased into. Instead Vimes was pounding through the streets like a man on a mission. He was blind to everything and everyone around him, and nobody was going to interrupt the thoughts of anyone with such an awful grim face as Commander Vimes held right now. Within minutes he was streets away from where he'd left Angua, his steps hard, his heart beating with far more than bodily exertion. He passed two lance-corporals stopping for a sly doughnut in the middle of their patrol. They clumsily stood to attention muttering profanities under their breath, but the youngest and palest of the two youths had the misfortune to look into his commander's eyes. He was still shaking even as Vimes disappeared off into the crowds without the slightest acknowledgment of their presence.

Vimes was elsewhere. He'd been thrown into a spiralling pit of anger and fear and the past. Everything in the past 24 hours, the blood, the chase, the deaths, the moments of feeling something_ more ,_ the bitter scintillating taste of a mystery, the threat of conspiracy…it was all because of this…

_She was back._

_Lit de Nuit, lit de Nuit,  the_ sound resonated round in his head. Those words in that boutique, the sight of that tiny insignificant bottle in Angua's hand…a scent that had woken him a long long time ago on soft satin sheets. A scent that he had watched oh so sparingly dabbed on the palest of wrists, on the smoothest skin…a scent that She had been so so proud of.

_"Its unique Sam" she'd laughed with a voice like soft raindrops on crystal. "I wear it and I feel unique, amongst all the women in this city. It makes me feel special."_

_"You don't need it." He'd said back quietly, his head resting on the pillow as he'd watched her. And she'd turned and smiled._

In a blocked off doorway down an empty narrow alley Sam Vimes' legs collapsed under him and he silently wept as he stared at her name, written in a delicate hand on what was, unknown to its writer, a list of suspects.

_TBC_

and quickly, away from (to a safer distance)


	11. Warning

Ankh-Morpork operated a busy arms trade, happy to fill a gap in the market consisting of sub-standard junk just suitable for arming pimply teenagers in their pointless and less-than-strategic attempts to walk very slowly towards Johnny Klatchian. But amongst all the production line recycled-tin rubbish there were still the true smiths who took pride in their work. The dwarfs took up a still significant portion of the armoury district, pre-requisite that it was that any true dwarf should have a properly crafted axe and at least two piece of chain-mail, whether they be a well seasoned warrior with their own collection of trolls' teeth or that nice Mr MountainScaler, purveyor of fine cheeses. Still, if you wanted quality and you wanted discretion you looked off the beaten track. You walked away from the showy street smithies with their impressive bursts of steam, sparks flowing, and displays of swordsmanship drawing crowds of eager young dwarfs fresh from the old country. Instead you found the quiet back street shop with the sleepy old retriever sitting on the threshold, and the only sound the slow _clink clink_ of metal on metal. This was Joe Smith's place. Joe, like all the men of generations before him, had earned that surname.

As Angua stepped through the door with a quiet knock she gave the faintest of nods to the old bitch who merely blinked and went back to dozing. Her master was equally unresponsive within. He was an average looking man, bent over his latest work with intensity, being beaten patiently down on an anvil, down in the dim and warm cluttered interior of the shop.

Angua's eye gazed all around the craft on display, some finished, some still in process. Everything here lay or hung in quiet confidence of its quality without needing to shout the fact with showy workmanship. Everything here would kill very very effectively. She picked up a shortsword lying on a wooden bench, and couldn't help but give a look of surprise at how well balanced it was. She gave it a few experimental swings. It hummed.

"Private order I'm afraid Sergeant."  Joe called calmly from within.

"Shame" Angua muttered quietly, and, regretfully, placed it back down.

Joe put down his work and came towards her rubbing his hands on a dirty rag.

"Care to place your own order Sergeant? Something similar perhaps?"

Angua smiled wryly." But not exactly the same right Joe?"

"Not in the mass produce business ma'am, you know that" he replied unblinking.

"Of course. Everything's got to have its own heart ..isn't that what you told me once?"

Joe's eyes flicked to the knife scabbard at her waist and back up again with a faint expression of nostalgia.

"She's serving you well ma'am." It wasn't a question.

Angua nodded anyway.

"I came to you for the best, and that's what I got. Survived a trip to Uberwald and back for one thing."

Joe nodded approvingly. "That blade's at home in the ice. Like its mistress."

Yes Joe knew weapons. He knew that to be effective they had to be one with the person wielding them. The two had to _fit_. Otherwise it was just another hunk of metal. A hunk of metal could do the trick alright. Ankh-Morpork rules taught you that. But there could never be an art to it.

He watched as Angua pulled out a folded piece of paper from her breastplate and placed it on the workbench beside them.

Silently he picked it up and unfolded it, looking at the rough sketch Cheery and Igor had come up with of the blade that was used against Carrot.

He didn't so much as blink but she sensed the recognition.

"This is special order stuff Sergeant."

"An order you'd do?" she asked quietly.

His eyes flicked up to hers.

"The City doesn't look kindly on things of this sort ma'am. Not fair play as it were." He folded the drawing back up. "But then you know that."

Angua smiled a chilling smile.

"But then that wasn't a 'no' was it?"

Joe gave the faintest of shrugs.

"City doesn't mind what foreigners order out Ma'am. It's all good trade." He sneered the last word.

"This thing found its way back into the City Joe. In fact it found its way into the chest of a Watchman last night."

Joe Smith was a calm and collected man. He knew his trade, he knew what it was used for, and he felt no guilt in it. But she could sense unease in him now for the first time in all her dealings with him.

"This was what was used on Captain Carrot?" he asked very quietly.

"What do you know about it?" Angua's voice was hard now and menacing to the point that Joe tentatively took a small step back.

"The attack? Only what I hear on the streets. I'm glad to hear he's recovering." The last part was offered gently with full sincerity. It only served rile Angua more. She grabbed him by the lapels as he backed up to the wall.

" The blade Joe. Who ordered it? Someone out there wanted the best and you delivered. _Who?_"

"I didn't know it was coming back here ma'am. It was a long time ago, special order for abroad."

_"Who?"_ She was practically growling now.

It was then she saw something of great concern in his face.

"I can give you a name ma'am. But if you find her, _you_ better be careful."

 _Her?_ Angua was thrown momentarily but didn't let it show.

"Is that a threat Joe?"

He shook his head, his eyes closed as he sighed.

"No ma'am. It's a warning."

She let go of him gently.

"Give me the name."

Across town  Mrs Palm, head of the Guild of Seamstresses sat in her private residence alone. Several items of correspondence were on the table before her alone and tea had been set out. She only occasionally sipped it or picked up her letters whenever one of her maids came in. Otherwise she sat in the shaded room unmoving and staring off out of the window over the rooftops of Ankh Morpork. At one point she realised her hands were shaking.

Eventually a tentative knock on the door was followed by the entrance of one of her girls.

"A visitor Madam" she announced quietly, and quickly curtsied out with her usual discretion.

Mrs Palm heard the quiet rustle of skirts as the visitor stepped in, and waited for the heavy door to fall shut.

She slowly turned around to see her guest pull the hood of her cloak back, and the shadows leave her face.

"It's been a long time" a voice called out quietly.

Mrs Palm shook as she stood, her eyes filling with uncharacteristic tears.

"Not long enough" she whispered.

_TBC_

one for daily wear, one for special occasions


End file.
